


Everything but This

by idreamtofreality



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Chocolate, M/M, Shore Leave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 22:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idreamtofreality/pseuds/idreamtofreality
Summary: And then they were standing in front of Cat’s Eye, and Spock was opening the door for Jim, and Jim stepped inside with a mild flirtation on his lips, but then the entire club went still, and Jim froze too, and all inhabitants were looking at them.And, god help them, they were all vulcans.--A week ago, Jim kissed Spock. Now they're about to have their first shore leave together as...what, a couple? This could either be very awkward or very spicy. There's a good chance it might be both.





	1. The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HanaSheralHaminail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanaSheralHaminail/gifts).



> A couple weeks ago, hanasheralhaminail asked me to write a short, sweet fic about Jim and Spock's first shore leave morning together. This is what it turned into.
> 
> I took many, many liberties with the effect chocolate has on Vulcans.

On paper, shore leave was a fantastic idea. It gave the crew—and most importantly, the commanding officers—an opportunity to rest, to clear their heads. After shore leave, they’d be much calmer and reasonable. Starfleet could avoid any fiascos resulting from irritable or stressed officers.

Of course, this was all in theory—at least for some of the commanding officers on the USS Enterprise.

The rest of the bridge crew went without protest, all eager to get to someplace where Jim couldn’t give them orders. Sure, they loved him—they adored him—but there comes a point in one’s job when, even if they’re friends with their boss, said boss’s voice begins to grate on their nerves.

So Uhura left, and Chekov left, and Sulu left, and that was all without protest.

The problem was with the captain and his first officer.

James Tiberius Kirk was a legend in his own right. He was the youngest captain in ages, and even in the few short years he’d had the Enterprise under his command, Captain Kirk had saved countless lives. And, at his side, there was always S’chn T’gain Spock, famously stoic and, unbeknownst to Spock, also famously handsome. The Captain and the First Officer were complementary to each other: blond versus brunet; logic versus emotion; unabashed versus contained; sun versus stars.

They were complementary in every way but work ethic.

“Explain to me  _ this _ ,” said CMO Doctor Leonard Mccoy, arms folding over his chest, “Why is it that everyone else on this goddamn ship is planet-side and you two are still here?”

Jim, who was seated sideways in his captain’s chair, twisted around to glance at his first officer. “Spock, go have your leave. You’re dismissed.”

Spock raised one of his perfect eyebrows. “I will take my leave when there is no more work for me here, Captain.”

“There isn’t any,” Jim said, offering a rather confident snort.

“Then there is none for you either.”

Jim whipped back around to give Bones an offended look, but Bones just smirked.

“He has a point.”

“Then why aren’t  _ you _ on shore leave?”

Mccoy picked up the bag at his feet. “I was on my way to the transporter when Chapel told me a certain pair of commanding officers were staying behind to get a ‘few more things done.’” He put air quotes around these last few words, emphasizing just how full of shit he thought they were. “I’ll see you planet-side, won’t I?”

Jim sighed. “Bones—”

“I’ll see you planet-side.” His voice was harder this time. “I’ll make sure they have rooms for you.”

Jim just sighed again, defeated.

“You too, Spock.”

Spock looked back at him coolly. “If that is your professional medical opinion, Doctor.”

Mccoy snorted. “Yeah. It’s my medical opinion. I’ll see you both later.”

He left the bridge and a peculiar hole lingered in his absence. Jim contemplated this hole. He let it fester for a good few minutes while he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Behind him, Spock continued working steadily, his dry fingertips sliding over the screen in front of him with the efficiency that only came with regular practice.

“Spock,” Jim said finally.

“Yes, Captain.”

“We should go pack.”

There was another moment of silence. Jim looked over his shoulder, where Spock was watching him with a curious look on his face and (though Jim might be imagining it) a tinge of green to his cheeks.

“Yes, Captain,” said Spock.

“Is everything okay?”

This was a harder question to answer, Jim knew. In all that they’d been through together, they’d cultivated a relationship that was largely unbreakable; though many had tried (both people and natural circumstances), they were inseparable. Apparently, however, it was different when the relationship progressed to something  _ more _ .

It had been almost a week, now, since Jim kissed Spock.

At first it had been an accident. Jim had had a bit of a crush on Spock since he first saw him. This crush might have had something to do with the fact that Spock got a rise out of Jim so easily, and damn it if Jim didn’t find that attractive in a partner—anyone who could get him more passionate than usual was an impressive sort—but that crush had developed further, and then they were uneasy friends, and then Spock was his first officer, and Jim never really got to deal with it, really.

They were playing chess. Jim’s hand brushed Spock’s. Spock’s cheeks and neck turned green. Jim touched his hand again, for real his time.

And then they were kissing. Jim got a spark of bravery and he leaned across the table and he started kissing Spock, and maybe Jim got a little ridiculous with the way his hands automatically slid under Spock’s shirt and caressed the planes of his back, but the point was that it  _ happened _ .

Neither of them had really had the courage to bring it up since then. They’d worked together the same as usual, feeling closer to each other and yet farther at the same time, because they’d taken the step but now neither of them wanted to look at the footprints they’d left.

“Everything,” said Spock very carefully, “Is fine.”

Jim stood, abrupt. “You aren’t lying to me, are you?”

“Vulcans don’t lie.”

Jim knew at least  _ that _ was a lie, which would have made him laugh in any other situation but this was them, and this was now, and Jim had  _ kissed _ his best friend and second-in-command and neither of them were saying a damn thing about it.

“Are you not going on shore leave because…” He swallowed, unable to get the words out, hoping for some reason that Spock would be able to read his expression enough to understand what he was trying to say.

“Are you referring to the incident last week?”

Incident? What had happened didn’t seem like an  _ incident _ . Incidents were the kinds of things you put in your reports. Jim couldn’t imagine putting something like feeling up his first-officer in a report. How would he even begin that?

_ The Stardate is blah blah blah. Today I made out with Commander Spock and put my hand in his shirt. It was hot. Spock is hot. He is also very good at kissing _ .

Jim pinched his nose.

“If so,” said Spock, “I suppose that is partially correct.”

He looked up. “What?”

Spock stood, too. He folded his hands behind his back—those incredible, perfect, beautiful hands. “I did not want to make awkward your shore leave, so I elected to remain on the ship while you enjoyed yourself on the planet’s surface. If you intended to remain on the ship and would rather I take myself to the planet’s surface instead, I am also—”

“You don’t want to spend shore leave with me?” In his panic, Jim accidentally interrupted Spock, and he put a hand over his mouth immediately after speaking. “Sorry. You can keep going.”

Spock raised his eyebrow again. The same eyebrow. “If you intended to remain on the ship and would rather I take myself to the planet’s surface instead,” he said again, “I am also willing to do that. As for your question, Jim, I…am not opposed to spending shore leave with you.”

Talking to Spock was sometimes awfully, terribly difficult. Vulcans usually said exactly what they meant but that human half made Spock fond of dodging the issue at hand in favor of spouting less significant observations. “Spock, do you want to spend shore leave with me? Please be honest.”

Spock’s cheeks got greener. “Yes, Jim. I would much prefer spending shore leave with you than alone.”

“Good. Let’s, uh. Let’s pack and meet by the transporter, okay? I’ll get in contact with Bones and we can find out where he got us rooms.”

The green faded a tad. Spock swallowed. “Very well, Captain.”

“Cool.” Jim pulled down his shirt some, trying to smooth out the wrinkles that always formed right around his waist. “I’ll see you down there, then.” And he left before he could make it any worse.

* * *

 

Probably the weirdest part of all of this is that Jim knew that at least one version of Spock loved at least one version of Jim. Meeting Old Spock had been jarring in the beginning, but it had been  _ especially _ jarring when Old Spock did his magic finger thing and shot all those images into Jim’s brain. Old Spock hadn’t just sent Jim what was immediately important—he’d sent so much more. He’d sent  _ emotion _ . Jim had seen the other version of himself and he’d felt what Spock felt and he  _ knew _ that it was love and that was confusing because, a. Spock hated him at least at the time, and b. what kind of guy—especially when they looked like Spock and had all those hot vulcans to pick from—would be attracted to  _ Jim Kirk _ ?

He’d thought maybe it was just in that universe. And then Spock kissed him back. And then the possibility that Spock might love Jim in more than one universe began to blossom in Jim’s mind, and that had been haunting him for the last week.

Jim finished shoving everything into his duffle and slung it over his shoulder. He took a long moment to look over everything in his room, trying to see if there was anything else he might want while he was planet-side. He couldn’t imagine why he would need any uniforms, but he’d tucked one into the bottom of his bag just in case, and all toiletries and the like should be available on the ground. Just clothes should do it.

He wondered what Spock was bringing with him. Was he thinking about Jim like Jim was thinking about him? Was he wondering if Jim was wondering if he was thinking about Jim?

Jim pressed a button on the wall and his door slid open. Spock was standing in the hallway, right outside.

“Oh. Hey.”

Spock’s hand tightened around his duffle strap. “Hello, Captain.”

“You don’t have to call me by my rank, Spock. I think we’re technically off-duty, now.”

Spock considered this. “Very well. Are you ready to leave, Jim?”

Damn it if that didn’t send a little thrill up the center of Jim’s back. “Yeah. We can always come back if we forget something, right?”

Spock inclined his head, and then he spun on his heel and began walking. Jim had to run a little to catch up with him. Why were his legs so  _ long _ ?

“I don’t regret it,” Jim said. Spock didn’t even slow down.

“What do you not regret, Jim?”

“Kissing you.”

There was a stutter in Spock’s step, now. Jim saw him swallow again.

“Do you regret kissing me back?”

The green that crept up from the collar of Spock’s shirt was a lovely shade. Jim was almost overcome with the temptation to fasten his mouth on that green. “No, Jim,” Spock said, “I do not.”

Was this really happening? Jim felt almost dizzy. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, allowing his memory to guide him through the hallways. “Would you…would you like to do it again, maybe?”

The green crept up further. “What are you suggesting, Jim?”

To hell with it. Jim reached out and caught Spock’s arm, tugging him from his determined walk to face Jim. “I thought my suggestion was pretty clear.”

Spock’s eyes darted from behind Jim to Jim’s mouth, then back to behind Jim.

“You can say no, if you want to,” Jim said. “I won’t hold it against you. I promise.”

When Spock spoke, his voice sounded strangled. “I don’t want to say no.”

A smile pulled at the corners of Jim’s lips. “Oh, you don’t?”

“You’re making this very difficult with the way you’re teasing me, Jim.”

Jim tried to get rid of the smile. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t…” Spock reached up and touched the corner of Jim’s mouth with one finger. “Don’t try to hide your emotions.”

Jim very suddenly could not breathe.

“I would like to,” said Spock. “Kiss you, I mean. Again.”

This was the first time Spock had lost his cool in front of Jim. Even when they kissed, he’d still seemed so put-together, but now Spock stumbled over his words, and his hand trembled against Jim’s skin, and his duffle was sliding down his shoulder but he was doing nothing to stop it from hitting the floor.

Air somehow found its way into Jim’s throat. He’d been so confident so many other times, but now, in front of Spock, apparently he’d forgotten the entirety of Standard.

So he faked it.

“If you’d like to,” he said, sliding his hand down Spock’s arm until it lingered at Spock’s wrist, “You can kiss me again now.”

Spock seemed to be breathing a little harder than usual. He stared down at where Jim’s fingers connected with his skin and his own hand dropped back to his side, away from Jim’s mouth. “Jim.” That was all that came out. Jim let his hand slide further until he could interlace their fingers together.

“Kiss me,” Jim whispered.

And Spock did. He kissed him fervently, passionately, wildly. He seemed to abandon the stiffness he so preferred on the bridge to becoming liquid underneath Jim’s touch: he melted against Jim’s hands, let Jim push him against the wall, moved his mouth against Jim’s with what felt like practiced expertise but what was probably just Spock being naturally good at it, like he was with everything else. Jim pressed him against the wall harder and Spock shuddered with his entire body, his mouth opening in a gasp, his grip around Jim’s hands tightening.

“Jim. Jim.” Spock put a hand on Jim’s chest, gently moving him back. “Jim, we have to meet the doctor.”

“He can wait.”

Spock gave him a look and Jim laughed a little.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means we should get down there before he starts to ask questions.” Spock slid out from between Jim and the wall and picked his bag up again. He brushed imaginary dust off his shirt.

“Your cheeks are green,” said Jim.

“I can’t imagine why,” Spock returned, dry. Then he said, “ _ Your  _ cheeks are red.”

“That isn’t the only thing that’s red.”

Spock stared at him. Jim started laughing again.

“I’m sorry. I’m awful.”

“We will…” Spock’s gaze traced all the way down Jim’s chest and stopped at Jim’s groin. He wet his lips and then brushed them against Jim’s cheek. “We will discuss that later.”

* * *

 

The planet’s surface is far more beautiful than Jim could’ve ever imagined.

When he was younger, he used to gaze up at the stars and wish he could be among them, but he always forgot to consider the magic he would feel when he visited other planets. Earth had landscapes that took Jim’s breath away; other planets had something else entirely. They didn’t follow Earth’s rules. They’d developed from something different and so they were something different, and each combination made Jim feel weak in the knees.

The transporter deposited him and Spock into the planet’s travel station. Jim could see a dark starry night, a sandy blue desert-like landscape with shocks of orange vegetation, and a city glowing with life.

“They don’t ever have day here,” Spock said, who had his tricorder slung around his shoulder for some reason. “The inhabitants of the colony depend on the light and warmth from the city, and they breathe with the assistance of an artificial atmosphere.”

Jim looked over at him and Spock, for some reason, seemed to backtrack. He slowly lowered the tricorder back to his waist.

“I like to know about the planets we visit and did some research when Starfleet suggested we take our leave here.”

Was this Spock being nervous? Jim offered a smile and clapped his hand onto Spock’s shoulder, trying at amiability but probably feeding Spock’s anxiety like fuel to a flame. “See anything else interesting?”

“This seems to be a popular destination for party-goers.” Spock’s shoulders relaxed some, apparently finding comfort in the conversation’s subject.

“Are you a party animal, Spock?”

Spock lifted his chin. “I assure you, Jim, that I can act appropriately in any situation.”

What did that mean? Was that a yes or a no? Jim covered his confusion by pulling out his communicator and flipping it open. “Bones, come in.”

“I’m here, Jim.”

Jim glanced at Spock, who was gazing at the city with a neutral expression on his face. “Did you get a room for us?”

A pause. “I got you both a room. One for each of you, if that’s what you mean.”

Spock met his gaze, now, and Jim’s face felt hot. “Of course that’s what I meant. Where do we get the keys?”

“I left them at the front desk. Just tell them your names and you’ll get them with a map. Nobody else got as nice of a hotel but I figured the two of you deserved some luxury.”

Spock was already leaving to grab the bags. “What are your plans for tonight, Bones?” Jim asked, watching him move away.

“Partying, probably. Not much else to do. I recommend the two of you get some sleep, since I’m pretty sure you’ve both been up for twenty hours.”

Spock returned, then, lifting a small packet to display the keys he’d retrieved.

“That your medical opinion?” Jim gave Spock a cheeky grin and Spock’s lips twitched in response.

“Spock is a bad influence on you,” Mccoy snapped, and the communicator beeped to notify his immediate disconnection.

“Bones says we should get some sleep,” Jim said, accepting the key Spock handed him. “What do you think?”

Spock shrugged. “I am not tired.”

“Neither am I. Anything exciting on the map?”

Spock’s fingers unfolded the paper smoothly, and it blinked with small glowing lines up at Jim. “As I said before, a good portion of this planet consists of nightclubs or some variation of nightclubs.”

“And the other portion?”

Spock’s eyebrow lifted. “Hotels.”

Not exactly up Jim’s alley anymore, but he could make do. “Want to just pick one and go?”

“If that’s what you desire.”

Jim scanned the map for a few moments, trying to see if anything stood out. There—on the corner of the city, there was a nightclub called “Cat’s Eye.” He stabbed a finger down on it. “How about this?”

Spock peered at it. “I suppose it’s as good as any other nightclub.”

“Alright. Let’s go see if we can get us some good whiskey and, uh…” Jim squinted at Spock. “What do you get drunk on?”

“Chocolate.”

A laugh escaped from Jim’s lips, but he clapped a hand over his mouth from getting out any further. “What?”

Spock’s expression was cool. “Vulcans become intoxicated on chocolate, not alcohol, though we sometimes consume alcohol for curiosity or enjoyment of taste.”

Jim is finding a strange amount of joy in this information. “Okay, well, if you want to get hammered, we can totally ask if they have chocolate milk or something.” As someone who regularly consumed chocolate milk in his childhood, the idea that someone might become intoxicated from drinking something so seemingly innocent was almost hilarious to Jim’s mind.

“I would be surprised if they did not.” Spock took initiative and started moving toward their destination, map held at his waist low enough to see comfortably over it but high enough to read. “This is, after all, a vacation destination for all races.”

Jim watched him move, only paying the minimal amount of attention to his surroundings required to not fall on his face or collide with another tourist. There was a sadness behind Spock’s eyes that had been there since the destruction of Vulcan, but today it seemed different—not gone, exactly, and not hidden, but lessened.

“Is there something wrong?” Spock had caught him staring. If Jim had any sense of shame, he would’ve looked away then, maybe allowing a blush to grace his cheeks, but instead he just grinned at Spock.

“Nothing at all.” He dodged a tourist with tawny-green skin and his shoulder brushed against Spock’s chest. “You look happy.”

Spock seemed skeptical.

“Don’t do that. You have a look in your eye.” They passed a nightclub with the name Serenity; Jim glanced inside for only a moment and the blood rushed to his cheeks. He was both infinitely happy and immensely disappointed that he didn’t choose that club.

“I admit,” said Spock carefully, “That I feel a bit lighter than I have in previous years.”

Jim’s grin got wider. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Is that just because you’re vulcan or—”

Spock folded the map back up and tucked it into his pocket. “Jim, you have more than once sacrificed your wellbeing and safety for my sake. Several years ago, you gave me your life. Lying to you would go against any culture’s moral system, whether or not I am vulcan.” He spread an arm out. “Here’s our hotel. We should drop off our bags before we go any further. Hand me yours.”

Jim passed over his bags. Their hands touched and Spock’s ears got greener.

“I’ll be right back.” Spock hurried into the building, leaving Jim right outside.

God, the city was pretty.

Jim stepped out of the way of the passersby and craned his neck upward. It was so, so, so pretty. The buildings sparkled with the stars above them, five thousand different colors. And, around those lights, a million people moved, high on the environment and also probably drugs, living in an ecstasy that could only be reached in a city made specifically to cultivate such a high.

“It’s beautiful,” came Spock’s voice from next to Jim, so soft it was almost drowned out by the bustle of the crowd. Jim found himself again then, slowly, and smiled at his first officer with what he hoped looked like delight.

“Spock! That was fast.”

“I had only to give the front desk my name and show them my key, and they took our things up. You’ll have to come to my room later to grab your bags.” Spock gave Jim a nod. “Shall we continue? The club you selected should not be far from here.”

“Sure.” Before they could move, though, Jim caught Spock’s wrist. “Spock, could I maybe, uh. Hold your hand?”

Spock blinked at Jim, then down at Jim’s fingers. He looked pained. “Again,” he said, “I would really like to say yes, but…”

“You don’t have to.”

Spock shook his head. “I fear only that contact may overwhelm me.”

Jim didn’t quite know how to respond to that. “Over…whelm?”

“Hand contact is equivalent to…” Spock’s skin was a deep green. “Kissing.”

That explained so much. “For real?”

Spock didn’t bother answering this.

“I’m learning a lot about vulcans today.”

“As well you should. Especially if we…” Spock let his voice trail off and the resulting silence was completion enough.

“I want to make it official,” said Jim, an offering of words to placate the awkwardness creeping between them.

“As do I,” said Spock. “For now, however, let us continue our journey. I’m sure this  _ Cat’s Eye  _ club eagerly awaits our arrival.” He offered his arm and Jim, beyond pleased, took it.

“You’re quite the gentleman, Mister Spock.”

“I can be if the need arises.”

They walked comfortably together, and though an illogical worry that they might run into members of the crew (particularly but not necessarily limited to Bones) clawed its way into Jim’s stomach, he could push it down far enough to enjoy the moment.

And then they were standing in front of  _ Cat’s Eye _ , and Spock was opening the door for Jim, and Jim stepped inside with a mild flirtation on his lips, but then the entire club went still, and Jim froze too, and all inhabitants were looking at them.

And, god help them, they were all vulcans.

* * *

 

There couldn’t be more than one in the city, but Jim, of course, had an affinity for such things, and now there was no turning back. They were in a night club, and it was a vulcan nightclub.

Spock was frozen right next to Jim. As his hand fell to his side, the door behind them slammed shut with a clang that seemed far too loud to be real. Spock struggled to catch his thoughts—to assemble them in any way that made sense. A  _ vulcan nightclub _ ? He didn’t think such a thing could exist. He’d never so much as even entertained the idea.

Vulcans did not party.

Then, in the emptiness, one vulcan spoke: the bartender. “Spock.”

Spock tensed, and so too did Jim. “You know me?”

“Of course we do.” The bartender leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar’s counter. “S’chn T’gai Spock. You refused entry to the Vulcan Sciences Academy to join Starfleet. We heard your ship was coming here for your shore leave and wondered if you’d stop by.”

Spock’s gaze slide across the room. Excepting Jim, they’re  _ all  _ vulcans. Each one still had their eyes trained on Spock, but they were also strangely relaxed; Spock could see a glass of chocolate in front of almost every patron.

“What…” He looked back at the bartender, his brow furrowing. “What is this place?”

“Exactly what you think it is,” said the bartender. “It’s a vulcan nightclub.”

“A vulcan…nightclub.” The two words together—in Spock’s mouth, no less—both felt and sounded strange. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

“It’s the first of its kind.” Now the bartender twisted around, indicating the shelves behind him. “Do either of you want a drink?”

Again, Spock looked at the bar’s patrons. They seemed to be waiting for him to answer, like this was some sort of test.

“Spock,” Jim said quietly, “We don’t have to stay.” His fingers snaked around Spock’s wrist, offering comfort, but Spock steadied himself.

“Do you have any fermented drinks?” Spock put his hand in Jim’s and pulled him toward the bar. “My companion cannot intoxicate himself with the same substances we use.”

“Of course. We can cater to your brother’s desires.”

And, just like that, the club returned to how it had been before they entered: the vulcans at the tables returned to their drinks, the vulcans on the floor to their conversations. Though the tension that came with any sort of vulcan company remained, there was no longer the feeling that Spock had something to prove. With Jim, he slid onto one of the barstools.

“What would you like?” asked the bartender. Spock, unsure of how to answer, replied with what was safest:

“Whatever is good.”

Jim’s eyes were still frantically scanning the menu. “Do you have…whiskey?”

“We do.”

Jim’s shoulders dropped, releasing the strain they’d been holding. “I’ll have whiskey, then.” As the bartender prepared their drinks, Spock said, “I don’t understand. Why would vulcans want something like this? This doesn’t aid in the pursuit of knowledge.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow. It had been so long since Spock had been among his people that the gesture on such an angular face felt almost like Spock was looking in a mirror. “Doesn’t it?” said the bartender. “The Federation has known for a long time the many benefits of taking breaks. Why shouldn’t that also apply to vulcans?” He put two glasses on the counter, and Spock took the one meant for him, but he did not try it yet.

“Vulcans have never needed breaks before. Even if they did, why take breaks to this extent? Wouldn’t simply taking a step away from the work accomplish the same goal?”

“Artists have, for thousands of years, found inspiration in changing their state of mind. Science is no different.” He paused, and something like a smile twitched at his lips. “Beyond that, Mister Spock, after Vulcan’s destruction, would it not be most logical to explore options?”

Spock had no idea how to respond.

“Try your drink,” said the bartender, patting the counter with one hand. “I think you’ll like it.” With that, he left to tend to other customers.

“Well,” said Jim, who had already begun on his whiskey and seemed to enjoy it, “Definitely weird. But also definitely cool. Who knew vulcans could be so laid back?”

Spock didn’t bother to answer this, either. He inspected the glass in front of him, twisting it around to see it from all angles. It was a light, creamy brown, topped with a cream that had been whipped into a more solid substance. Then he sipped at it, carefully at first, and then more zealously. It was  _ good _ . Mostly chocolate, but also with hints of espresso and vanilla. The cream on top complemented the bitterness of the drink nicely.

“Good?” Jim was watching him.

“Yes,” Spock said, “Very good. Would you like some?”

Jim accepted the drink and took a tiny sip. “Oh! It’s a mocha.” He passed it back and Spock drained the rest of it. “You know, those are  _ very  _ easy to get on Earth.”

“Not for vulcans.” Spock’s tone was dry. “They card vulcans.”

Jim laughed at this. He took another pull of his whiskey and another sweep of the room and said, very hesitantly, “Spock.”

“Yes, ashayam.” Apparently the chocolate was already getting to him. Why did vulcans have such a low tolerance level? Perhaps his drink had a higher chocolate content than Spock was used to.

“The bartender called me your brother.”

The smile came easily to Spock’s lips. “Yes.” He lifted his hand to the bartender and pointed at his drink, indicating that he wanted another.

“Why? We’re obviously not brothers.”

Spock took his next drink, apparently already prepared, and downed it with one swallow. “They were making assumptions.”

“That I was, what? Adopted into your family?”

He was getting dizzy. Spock put a hand on the edge of the counter and swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. “There is a world in vulcan—t’hy’la. It means ‘brother.’ It also means ‘friend’ and ‘lover.’”

Jim suddenly found his drink very interesting.

“it also,” said Spock, “Indicates a bond deeper than most can comprehend. Standard uses the word ‘soulmate’ to communicate this concept.”

“Oh,” said Jim. He traced his fingers over the rim of his glass, which had yet to empty. “So they…thought we were soulmates.”

“Jim.” The laugh bubbled from Spock’s chest before he could stop it. “They didn’t  _ think _ anything. They knew, just as I knew. Ours is a bond that could not be disguised or misinterpreted as anything else.”

Jim’s cheeks were red, and Spock knew it wasn’t from the alcohol. It surprised him that he could comprehend this through the dizziness that had taken hold of his mind. “We’re really soulmates?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know? How do  _ they _ know?”

Spock took a long time to answer this. How could Jim, a human, understand what vulcans knew instinctively? How could he describe the way psychic connections worked and how they felt—how, when there was such a connection, any vulcan could sense it without trying?

He lifted his hand. “Come closer.”

Jim leaned in and Spock connected his fingers to Jim’s qui’lari. “Mind-melding requires the consent of all participants,” he said. “Do you consent?”

Jim’s eyes were wide. “Yes.”

Spock surrenders his mind as Jim’s mental gates opened. He gave him everything: what the bond felt like from the outside, what it felt like from the inside, what it felt like to love Jim. Spock surrenders his childhood, his family, his emotions after his mother’s death and Vulcan’s destruction, his years in Starfleet Academy and the loneliness that consumed him, his grief at Pike’s murder, the pride he felt standing next to Jim on the bridge—he gave him everything because Jim was his everything.

And then his hand fell away, and his head dropped to the counter, and he didn’t move.

“Uh.” Jim shifted on his stool. “Bartender? I think something’s wrong with Spock.”

“Don’t worry,” said the bartender. “he is merely feeling the effects of the chocolate. He should be fine in about half an hour.”

Spock wanted to reply—to open his mouth, to tell Jim that everything would be fine—but he feared the consequences. He continued to not move.

“Excuse me.” This voice was new and unfamiliar; Spock would tense if he wasn’t confident in Jim’s ability to defend himself. “May I converse with you?”

Jim moved, probably to face the new arrival. “Sure. I’m James T. Kirk, by the way. My friends call me Jim. Or Captain.”

A small gasp. “You’re the captain of the Enterprise?”

“The one and only.”

Then the voices faded out. Spock could still feel Jim in his mind, and knew he must still be there physically, but he couldn’t bring himself to listen to the conversation.

Spock willed himself to move. Nothing happened.

Logically, he knew that Jim would be find. These were Spock’s people, and it was Jim. There was no reason to worry.

Someone lifted Spock’s head. It was the bartender. Sympathy was a strange emotion to see twisting a vulcan’s features. He could just make out the words forming on his lips: “How long has it been since you’ve had chocolate?”

Spock tried to answer but couldn’t. The thoughts in his head, momentarily organized from the meld, had returned to their cocoa-fueled chaos. Even if Spock could manage to force words out, he doubted they would be anywhere near comprehensible.

“I assume it’s been a while. Here.” He tilted a cup toward Spock and Spock, somehow, managed to swallow. “That should make it wear off a bit faster. Next time, drink slowly. Let the effect come slowly.”

Spock blinked at him.

“Your t’hy’la is fine. He’s right next to you. He’s just found some conversationalists.”

Spock blinked again. The low hum that used to be the conversation around him was starting to sound more and more like actual words.

“See? It’s already wearing off. You’ll be back with Captain James T. Kirk in no time.”

Spock could hear him—could hear Jim—but only faintly. As he twisted himself around, he could see Jim still sitting next to him, laughing and talking with a few vulcans.

_ How did you meet him? _

_ Oh, we went to the same academy. Actually he was— _

“See?” said the bartender, “Perfectly fine.”

Spock forced himself to lift his head. He squinted at the bartender. “I haven’t drunk since before I applied to the Science’s Academy.” The sentence was only barely understandable. He cleared his throat. “I’d forgotten how quickly it sets.”

Spock would ask for another if he didn’t know that he would immediately regret it.

“Next time,” said the bartender, sliding over a glass of whiskey.

Spock took the whiskey. He stood—unsteadily at first, and slowly he regained his balance—and put his hand on Jim’s shoulder.

“Spock!” Jim stood too, so quickly he nearly knocked over his company’s drinks. “Are you feeling better? I was just about to check on you!”

“Yes, I feel fine.” Spock tasted the whiskey and then dropped it back on the counter so he could take Jim’s other shoulder and pull him closer so that they were face to face, noses almost touching. “And you, Jim?”

Jim’s eyelashes fluttered. “One glass of whiskey doesn’t do much for me. Really, I just like the taste.”

“Hm,” said Spock, and kissed him. He kissed him on his mouth first, and then he slid his hands down Jim’s arms and kissed his hands too—twining their fingers together stroking the soft skin of Jim’s wrists. He kissed him passionately, because vulcans were there and even though Spock knew he should be ashamed, his jealousy was more powerful than his shame, and he kissed Jim because Jim was  _ his _ t’hy’la, and he would never be anyone else’s.

“Spock.” Jim broke away from Spock’s mouth and his eyes were somehow wider than they were before, shining with a bright light, the origin of which Spock was totally unsure. “You sure you’re sober?”

“Yes. Chocolate works hard and fast, and then it’s gone.” Spock put his hand on the nape of Jim’s neck and nuzzled a spot along Jim’s jaw, inhaling so sharply that he could detect the faintest of smells lingering on Jim’s skin and in his hair: whiskey, sweat, chocolate, coffee, and just a hint of the cleaner Sulu loved to use on the consoles. And he fastened his mouth there, too, sucking a kiss that he knew would produce a dark purple bruise by morning. Jim gasped out loud and clutched at Spock’s back like he’d done just a few hours before, his nails digging into the fabric and biting into Spock’s skin.  “Let’s go back to the hotel now,” Spock murmured, his mouth right next to Jim’s ear. “Let’s skip this step and go right to our room.”

Jim’s nails dug in harder. He nodded a few times, apparently unable to speak, and Spock swept him off his feet.

“Come back later!” called the bartender with a bit of humor in his voice, and Spock kicked the door open without answering.

* * *

 

They crashed into Spock’s room without caring about the noise. Jim took control almost as soon as Spock put him down, knowing Spock was stronger but also being well aware that Spock had no qualms when it came to being under Jim’s command.

He pushed Spock into a wall and Spock writhed against him.

“You want to do this?” Jim paused long enough to take Spock’s jaw into one hand and look him in the eye, trying to see if there was enough clarity there to continue.

“Yes. Though I can’t imagine we’ll be compatible, considering I am vulcan and you are human.”

Jim stared at him. Was there some sort of weird vulcan ritual they had to do to have sex? Could Spock have sex or was it all in the hands? Vulcans had to have genitalia, right? Right?

“I’m kidding,” said Spock, giving Jim a grin that lit up his entire goddamn face. “My anatomy is basically the same as yours.”

“Well.” Jim stumbled through his words as he felt his cheeks betray him in how red he knew they were getting. “Well, I would have been okay with. Well, if you had—”

“I can fuck you and you can fuck me and there will be no consequences,” said Spock. “My father fornicated with my mother just fine, and they were a vulcan and human pair, too.”

“Oh, gross,” said Jim without thinking, and Spock laughed. Oh, his smile was so beautiful.

“Yes, you’re right. Let’s not talk about that.” He bent his head down and put his mouth on another spot on Jim’s neck, giving him another hickey.

“Marking much?” A giggle forced its way from Jim’s chest and then he was laughing, and Spock was laughing too, and Jim couldn’t help but kiss him again. “You’re so beautiful.” 

“I should be saying the same to you.” Spock traced the outline of Jim’s jaw. “Jim, my captain, my t’hy’la, my ashayam.”

Jim’s entire chest felt the warmth that only came with knowing you’re safe and loved—the kind of feeling he hadn’t felt since before Tarsus. “Spock,” he said back, barely above a breath, barely able to get the word out without his eyes watering up. Why was he crying? He was happy. He was happier than he’d been in a long, long time. 

Spock’s request came back just as softly as Jim’s voice had been: “Fuck me.”

Well. Jim wasn’t going to say no to that.

He took Spock’s hands, enjoying the sound Spock made at contact, and yanked him toward the bed. They both fell against the covers and Spock twisted around so that he landed on his back and Jim straddled him, pressing both of Spock’s arms against the covers like he was trapping them there. 

“Spock,” said Jim, and loved the look Spock gave him—a mixture, somehow, of sexy and curious—“You’re really hot right now.”

“As are you, Jim. But do you plan on simply observing me as I am, or do you plan on taking this further?”

Jim knew Spock was a brat, but he didn’t think he was a  _ brat _ . “Fine,” said Jim, tugging at the hem of Spock’s shirt, “Let’s get naked. Let’s go.”

Spock, free of Jim’s arms now, lifted his hands above his head and allowed Jim to pull his shirt off.

“Fuck,” said Jim without any real passion, “You’re wearing an undershirt.” 

“It’s part of our uniform.”

“Yeah, but we aren’t in uniform.”

Spock shrugged. “I got comfortable with them. Maybe you should just be better at pulling off shirts.”

Jim felt the sudden urge to smack him. Not in an angry way—more like in a sexy way. He settled for a glare instead, and yanked off Spock’s undershirt, too, almost tearing it in the process. “How’s that?” 

Spock made an odd purring sound in the back of his throat. “Perfect.”

Jim stopped for a moment, his hand hovering over Spock’s chest (deliciously sprinkled with coarse, dark hair) and tried to comprehend what just happened. “Did you just purr?”

Spock gave him a look. “I’m descended from cats.”

“But did you just—”

“Jim.”

“Right.” Jim shook his head, clearing it. “Right! Sorry.” He peeled off his shirt too, and slid across Spock’s body so their bare chests pressed against each other. He kissed Spock, holding down Spock’s wrists again, and Spock made that purring sound again. “Okay, I’m just gonna say now that that’s pretty hot.”

“Are you just going to kiss and talk to me or will we be doing anything else?”

“You’re awful,” Jim told him, and Spock bared his teeth in an almost feral smile.

“I’m well aware.”

The thing about vulcans, Jim remembered suddenly as he unfastened the button on Spock’s pants, was that they were descended from warriors, and even if they’d reformed themselves to be a stiff, logical group of people, there were moments when that warrior came out.

It had come out when Jim died and Spock lost control in his fight against Khan. It had come out when Spock’s planet exploded and Jim could hear Spock tearing up his room behind a locked door after losing it on Jim. It had come out when Khan murdered Pike and Spock snarled at almost everyone who dared come near him—even Jim, who was trying to share with him his grief, even if he couldn’t begin to come near understanding it.

It was coming out now.

It was strange, really, that it had only come out when Spock had lost someone, and now it was coming off as Jim’s hands pulled down Spock’s pants and his hot breath rushed over Spock’s skin. It came out suddenly: Spock bucked up and he wrapped one arm around Jim’s torso and he bit down hard where Jim’s neck met his shoulder—hard enough for it to hurt but not hard enough to break skin.

Jim, his hands trembling a little too much, wrapped his fingers around Spock’s (decidedly very green) dick, then moved with more confidence. He’d done this before—he’d had sex before, had sex with dudes before (who was Jim Kirk to have preferences in a universe with so many options?)—but somehow this was different; somehow Spock was different. Perhaps it was because, apparently, they were soulmates; perhaps it was because nobody had looked hotter to Jim than the vulcan below him, almost glowing with his desire, softly green everywhere but his ears and his dick, making that horribly terrific purring sound in the back of his throat every time Jim made contact with his skin.

Jim’s fingers curled tighter and he pulled upward, making Spock’s teeth dig in harder, his hands desperately tugging at Jim’s arms so he could make contact with his hands. And Jim, though he wanted to give Spock what he wanted, took Spock’s wrist with his free hand and instead guided it into his mouth, where he gently sucked on Spock’s fingertips.

“Jim.” Spock jerked from the spot he’d been so securely attached to at Jim’s neck and growled something obscene into his skin. “Jim.”

It was almost unfair, Jim thought, that a species who was so apparently adverse to physical contact and intimacy would have so many ways to get them off, but Jim was enjoying Spock’s reactions anyway.

“The reason we avoid physical contact,” said Spock through clenched teeth, “Is because we’re touch-telepaths.” Jim’s hand, still wrapped around Spock’s dick, jerked in surprise at this response to something Jim had most definitely not said out loud, and Spock fell back onto the mattress with a moan, his hand slipping from Jim’s lips and landing on one of the pillows behind his head. “Jim, please do something with that hand before I completely lose myself.”

Jim batted his eyelashes innocently at him. “Alright,” he said, “If you insist.” And he put his mouth around Spock, and Spock let out a muffled shout, and Jim would have laughed in delight if he wasn’t so concentrated on doing this right.

“Jim, Jim.” Spock’s hands dug into Jim’s hair as Jim moved, his fingers grasping and desperate. “Oh, fuck, Jim.” He says another few words, here—a jumble of syllables Jim could never hope to replicate or even remember, and Jim knows immediately that it’s a mixture of vulcan expletives, which he had no idea vulcans had.

Jim pulls of Spock and offers as feral of a grin he can give, even if he knows it’s nowhere near Spock’s. “How are you, baby?” The pet name slips off his tongue so easily, and from the way Spock’s eyes roll back in his head a little, Jim thinks maybe he likes it.

“I’m going to…” Spock squeezes his eyes shut. “Jim, you have to stop touching me, or this will be over soon.”

Jim’s smile goes from feral to wicked. “Is that a bad thing?”

“It is if you want this to last longer than five minutes.”

“We’ve been doing this for ten minutes, at least.”

“Twelve, actually.”

“Have we really? I haven’t actually been keeping track.”

Spock had the audacity to look amused. “I know.”

They just looked at each other for a moment, Jim trying to take in the image of Spock spread-eagled underneath him, Spock gazing back at Jim with half-lidded eyes. Then at last Jim said, “Well,” and kicked off his pants.

“Your eloquence never ceases to amaze me.”

Jim snorts. “Oh, ha-ha.”

“That was only partly sarcasm. Your eloquence usually does amaze me.”

Jim traced his hand along the inside of Spock’s thigh, making Spock release a high-pitched hiss through his clenched teeth. “You gonna talk all night?”

“Jim, please.”

“Alright, well, you got any lubricant or something? ‘Cause I’m not about to—”

“I lubricate naturally.”

Jim couldn’t move for a long second. “Okay, I feel like maybe I should’ve gotten that in the whole rush of memories you gave me earlier?”

“You got my most significant memories and everything else was pushed to the back. A vulcan’s ability to self-lubricate regardless of gender was not significant enough for you to notice.”

“So—”

“Jim, do something or I’ll finish myself off.”

Who was really the top here? Jim laughed a little to himself and waved one hand. “Okay, okay, geez. I’ve got you, baby?”

Spock bent his legs, then, bringing up one on either side of Jim and lifting his ass off the bed a little. “Jim.” His voice had almost dropped to a whine and Jim, unable to resist that voice, succumbed. He slipped his fingers into Spock—one at first, and when Spock growled at him, he added two more. He had really no idea what he was doing—he would have done research on vulcan anatomy, but Starfleet’s databases knew only what vulcans surrendered, and that wasn’t a lot. The concept of ‘Pon Farr’ that had flown into Jim’s mind during the meld seemed somehow painful in a very not-sexy way at the same time as being horny in a very sexy way. He’d have to ask Spock about that sometime, because he wasn’t sure if he should be excited about that or not.

“Jim.” Spock’s voice came again, strained and a little agitated. “Are you daydreaming while your fingers are literally inside of my ass?”

“What’s pon farr?” The question escaped before Jim could stop it, and he added another finger to try to make up for it. Spock made that purring sound in the back of his throat again and pushed his hips up further, driving Jim’s fingers in deeper.

“Why are you asking me this now? We don’t have to worry about it for years!”

“But—”

“Shut up,” Spock snarled, “And fuck me.”

Jim’s hand slid out. “If you say so.” He positioned himself in front of Spock, ready to slide in.

“Jim, wait.”

“But I thought—”

Spock surged upward and put his fingers back onto the qui’lari (the word came naturally to Jim’s mind, but he no idea what it meant) of Jim’s face. “Do you consent?”

Jim beamed at him. “Does it make the sex better?”

“So I’m told.”

“You know I do.”

Spock closed his eyes and the rushing feeling came back—the same rushing that Jim had felt in the bar—but it didn’t feel like his body was going anywhere. Jim saw himself standing in front of two towering midnight doors, and as he reached for the doorknob, Spock was opening them and offering his hand. Dimly, Jim could feel himself slamming into Spock, could faintly hear their cries ringing out in pleasure, but Jim’s mind could only see Spock: naked, with hair down to his waist that billowed around him, one hand gripping Jim’s and the other spread out. When Jim looked down, he could see neither of their feet were really touching the ground. They were both floating above a swirling abyss of infinite cosmos. They were in an infinite cosmos, and the midnight doors were the only things with them, floating between them but wide open.

“What is this place?” Jim’s mind asked.

“This is what it means to be t’hy’la,” said Spock’s mind. He plucked a star from the sky and tucked it behind Jim’s ear like it was a flower. “This is what it means to love each other in every infinite universe. This is what it means to know another person better than you know yourself.”

“And where is my body?” Jim’s mind said.

“Where you left it—it is with my body.”

“I can…feel me. I can feel you.” And it was true. Though Jim could feel himself sliding into Spock over and over, the rhythm both soothing and further arousing him, he could also feel Spock’s immense pleasure and, most miraculously, it wasn’t weird.

“That is what it means to be t’hy’la,” said Spock’s mind again. “That is what it means to be one.” 

Jim touched the star behind his ear. He looked at the universe around them and he knew that he was safe. “Kiss me,” he said.

“If you wish.”

Spock’s mind took Jim’s mind into his mind arms. And he kissed him.

And Jim felt it in his very soul.


	2. The Morning After

On a planet that had no sun, the people adapted: slowly but surely, light crept over the horizon, powered by motors and glowing with an artificially-green tint, but it was a sunrise all the same, and with the light Spock pulled himself slowly from the warmth and comfort of Jim’s arms and stretched for a few moments in front of the window.

Behind him, Jim shifted and moaned a little; his hand stretched toward Spock and made a grasping motion, indicating his desire for Spock to return to the mattress. The words that slid from his lips were slow and tired, but nevertheless full of affection: “Come back, baby.”

Spock began to search for the articles of clothing they’d strewn around the room. “I thought I would order us breakfast,” he said, and no reply came because Jim had been seized by slumber again. Spock went to him and traced the outline of those soft pink lips with the tip of his finger.

Ever since he was young, Spock had been cursed with the inability to sleep in. While his siblings and parents lingered in their dreams on weekends, Spock was always up early, not quite early enough to see Vulcan’s sun rise but early enough that the loneliness began to suffocate him.

Standing in front of Jim now and watching the rise and fall of his captain’s chest, such an affliction no longer felt like a curse.

Jim shifted again and Spock tried to snatch his hand back, but Jim’s fingers were suddenly wrapped around his wrist and pulling him downward.

“We don’t need breakfast just yet. Come lie down with me. I’m cold.”

Dutifully, Spock slid under the covers. The sheets had yet to lose the warmth he’d left in his sleep, and as Jim snuggled into his side, pushing his nose into the crook of Spock’s neck, Spock found in himself a peace he’d thought he’d lost forever when his mother had tumbled to her death.

“Are vulcans warmer than humans?” His voice was still sleepy, but less so: no longer did the words blend together in a slurred jumble.

“Usually, yes.” Spock touched Jim’s shoulder and, when Jim didn’t flinch away from him, began methodically running his hand up and down Jim’s arm, tracing an invisible line and enjoying how Jim’s hairs rose along that path.

“Do you…do you regret it at all?”

Spock’s hand stopped moving. “Do I regret what?” 

“Last night.” Jim’s voice was small.

For a long moment, Spock’s didn’t know how to answer. He couldn’t find the words. Did he regret it? Spock had thought it impossible to lose himself to emotions the way he did around Jim, but Jim was, well, Jim. He had a gift for conjuring that which was previously impossible, and Spock was no exception. 

Spock opened his mouth. He wanted for all of this to come out, and expected perhaps a jumbled half, but all that could find its way through his vocal chords was a single syllable, anguished and yet soft in its deliver, somehow meaning everything and nothing at once: “Jim.” 

He took Jim’s chin and tilted it upward, gazing into those ice-blue eyes that glowed with both wicked intelligence and fierce kindness.

“Jim,” he whispered again, and brought their lips together so they could share a kiss—sweet, brief, and saying all for which Spock could not find the words.

Jim exhaled. Spock could feel the heat hitting his cheeks. “So that’s a no?”

“That’s a no.”

Spock couldn’t see Jim’s mouth with how close they were, but from the way the corners of Jim’s eyes crinkled, he knew Jim was smiling. “Okay.” 

“That’s all?” It wasn’t like Jim to hold back. “Just ‘okay’?”

Jim laughed. Spock could feel the vibration of it in his chest. “Well, I was just thinking about how we’re going to explain this to Starfleet. How’d you do it with Uhura?” 

“We just submitted a report to the appropriate higher-ups.”

“What? Why didn’t I get a report?” 

Spock raised an eyebrow. “You did.” 

He can almost see the gears turning in Jim’s head. “I…don’t remember getting that.” 

“There should be records.”

Jim grimaced. “I don’t think I want to see those.” He wrapped his arm around Spock’s waist. “I guess we should write a report.” 

“Are you worried about it?” 

“A little, I guess.” 

Spock’s lips twitched and he pressed another kiss to Jim’s temple. “I think I’m more worried about Doctor Mccoy’s reaction than I am Starfleet.” 

Jim’s chest started trembling with laughter. “You’re right. You’re right. I think he may combust.”

“We’ll have an extinguisher on hand.”

“Spock! You’re going to make me cry.”

“If those are tears of happiness,” said Spock gently, “Then I will gladly continue.”

Jim’s laughter subsided and he gazed at Spock with wet eyes, his expression so painfully earnest. “Spock,” he said, “I love you so much.” 

“And I love you, Jim,” said Spock, “So much.”

Jim, whose arms were wrapped around Spock’s waist, squeezed harder in an impromptu hug. “I’m so glad I have you. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me since…since.” He stopped, apparently unable to find the proper words. Spock realized he was trying to find a time when he was happy, and a heaviness settled in his chest.

“Since you became Captain of the Enterprise,” he suggested. Jim’s face brightened.

“Yeah! Exactly. You and the Enterprise are pretty up there as far as my happy things go.”

They relapsed into silence; Spock was unsure if Jim had fallen asleep or not, and could not check without jostling his partner. “If ever the unhappiness consumes you,” he said, voice quiet, “Know that I am here for you, Jim, and our bond can offer more comfort than most medicines.”

“Really?”

Spock nodded, even though Jim could not see him. “The happiness I feel when I am with you…that never goes away. It never dissipates. It never varies. It never hesitates. It is a constant force, and it will always be a constant force, even if we are separated. Even if we are across the universe for each other. Even if…” His voice faltered, then, his mind immediately going to Spock Prime—how he’d lost his Jim, and how he never got him back. “Even if you must go somewhere I cannot follow, I will always have this feeling, and I have the capabilities to share it with you. You are never alone, Jim. You need not feel the way you do.”

“I know.” Jim bent his head up and rested his chin on Spock’s bare chest, his lips curling into a soft smile. “I have you, and I have the crew, and I have the Enterprise, and that’s all I need. When I inevitably get bad again, I know where to go, and I know who I need to be with.”

Spock, unable to stop himself, kissed Jim again.

“I don’t ever want to go where you can’t follow me,” said Jim decidedly once Spock drew backward. “If I ever start heading there, you gotta stop me, okay?”

Spock swallowed.

“Listen.” Jim put a warm hand on Spock’s stomach, his eyes meeting Spock’s so sincerely it nearly summoned Spock’s tears. “Spock Prime melded with me, and I got a lot that I didn’t expect from him. The love that he felt for the other Jim…I didn’t think that would be possible. But from what you shared with me…I don’t know. I think t’hy’la carries across all universes, doesn’t it?”

“Infinite diversity in infinite combinations,” said Spock, “And, in all of them, we remain constant. Everything changes. Everything but this.”

Jim’s eyes filled with tears. “Spock Prime lost his Jim. I don’t want you to lose me. I don’t want you to feel that.”

“I don’t think we have a choice when it comes to that, Jim. I wish it weren’t true, but that’s simply how it must be. We are together, and we are torn apart, and it is our decision to make the most of the time we have. Perhaps in this universe, I will die first, or perhaps we will follow the same footsteps as the Spock who visited us, and you will be the one who dies first. In any case, we have each other now, and we love each other now, and we can thrive in these facts. What else do we need?” 

“I don’t want to think about losing you,” said Jim hotly, shaking his head.

“Nor I, you, Jim. So let’s not dwell on that.” He took Jim’s hand in his and kissed Jim’s fingertips with his mouth, offering a comfort to Jim he knew would not arrive with just hand-holding. “Don’t spend time wondering what could be when you could spend that time in the present—when you could spend that time with me.” 

Jim wiped at his eyes and tried to smile again. “I know I’ve already said this, but I love you a lot.”

“I love you, Jim.” Spock slid from his arms and stood, stretching out his muscles again. “I’m going to order breakfast. Is there anything you want in particular?”

“Just…” Jim’s cheeks turned red, probably remembering the full meld they’d had the night before. “You know what I like.”

Spock really tried to not give him such a cheeky grin, but from Jim’s expression, he knew he’d failed. He went to the panel beside the door and punched in their order, selecting something called a “Breakfast Burger” for Jim and a more reasonable vegetarian dish for himself. He noted that he should probably get dressed before their food arrived, but went back to Jim without trying to find his pants.

“You got very possessive last night,” Jim said as he came closer. “Like, very possessive. I didn’t think it was possible for you to get that possessive.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t like the idea of vulcans trying to woo you away from me.”

Jim’s mouth dropped open and, for a moment, he was silent, but then a burst of laughter came out, and then he was doubled over with the force of it. “Wait, you thought they wanted me?”

“You’re a good choice, as far as partners go.” Spock wasn’t sure why he was getting defensive when he wasn’t the one being insulted, but he allowed the emotion to come anyway, no longer tempted to quell such reactions around Jim.

“No, Spock, they were only interested in me because of you.” Jim had finally stopped laughing, but he was gasping for air still between words. “Spock, you’re, like, a real catch on Vulcan, apparently.”

For the first time in his life, no words arrived in Spock’s brain. No reaction, no nothing. It took him a long moment to say, “I am not.”

“No, Spock, you are. The whole half-human thing? The fact that you sometimes show emotions? Your rebellion against the Vulcan Sciences Academy and their bigotry? The fact that you were responsible for saving a lot of Vulcan’s culture? That apparently really butters their biscuit.”

“I am not,” said Spock again, but the words came weaker this time—with less conviction. Was this really all true?

“They were asking me how I caught you,” said Jim, “And I said we were destined to be.”

“Which they knew,” said Spock.

“Yeah. But they were still curious. I thought it was kinda funny. Also I may have bragged a bit, but I think I deserved to brag. You are a catch, Spock.”

His rebellion was attractive to other vulcans? The thought made him almost dizzy and likely would have confused him beyond reason if he wasn’t already confident in his connection with Jim. Why hadn’t any of them said anything? He would have been more than open to dating a good handful of them if only they’d said something.

“Oh no,” said Jim, “Did none of them ask you out?”

Spock forced his jaw to unclench. “No, Jim, they did not.” 

Jim fought a smile. “Good. I can’t imagine having to compete with a vulcan.” 

“You outshine all of them, Jim.”

“I know you’re just trying to make me feel better, but thanks.” 

“No.” Spock brushed his lips across Jim’s forehead. “I only tell you the truth, Jim, and the truth is, you are my star, and you will always shine brighter than anyone else.” 

“You’re makin’ me blush.”

“And you are more beautiful for it.”

Jim’s cheeks got darker. He pulled Spock down for a long kiss, then another quick peck. “I love kissing you,” he said. “And, I’m gonna tell you now, kissing you in my head was pretty great.”

Spock chuckled. “Yes, I can agree with that sentiment.” He sat down next to Jim and put his hand on Jim’s shoulder, rubbing in a gentle massage that made Jim melt under his fingertips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to doing that again.”

Jim’s eyes fluttered. “Yeah, no kidding. Do you think anyone will be able to tell?”

“About our relationship? I imagine if we walk onto the bridge holding hands, it would be fairly obvious.”

“Oh, you want to walk onto the bridge holding hands?”

“Jim, if I could announce to the world that you belong to me and I to you, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

“You’re a romantic.”

“I am for you, Jim.”

The door chimed and Spock started searching for his pants. “I think our breakfast is here,” he said, quietly cursing himself for not getting dressed when he should have.

“Already?” Jim patted the nightstand for a button and switched on the camera to right outside the door. “Ooh, so I think that whole telling-the-universe thing might come sooner than you think.”

“What?” Spock had finally found his pants and was struggling to get them on. “Why?”

“Because,” said Jim, rotating the screen so Spock could see, “Our friends have come to give us a surprise visit.”

Uhura, Sulu, Chapel, Chekov, and Doctor Mccoy were all standing in front of the door.

“Fuck,” said Spock. “I guess you’re right.” He dug more frantically through the scattering of clothing around the room, trying to find his shirt. Jim didn’t even bother to move from his bed—didn’t even bother to cover the fact that his entire left leg was exposed enough to reveal his lack of any clothing.

“You think breakfast is coming?” Jim asked casually, examining his fingernails.

“You won’t get to eat it if you don’t get dressed,” said Spock. “I don’t like the look in Doctor Mccoy’s eye.”

Jim laughed it off. “If he’s upset, he can close his eyes. Computer, unlock the door.”

The lock slid open and the bridge crew pushed its way in. Spock, still with only half his shirt buttoned, tried to convince himself that welcoming death was easier than fighting it.


End file.
